Can words press on the weight
Of time and place
So hold the timbre of holding
The whisper in the ears of
Wildness
How we can learn from each other
In the full summer bloom
Late into the fall
The weight of a whisper
Can have a toll
On us all
Beyond the sound
When all volume is turned down
The angels in the silence
Have mercy on those
Whose ears await the calling day
For the moments of tender
Sweet
And true love
Are upon us from above
So take heed to these angels
And give us the way
Forward
The footsteps upon the granite
Tell me that the silence is only
In stillness
Stillness results in reflection
The only way of detection
To purge the soul
Of it’s own dirt
The Cathedrals of silence
Go calling for us to return
To come back and embrace
Stillness in a holy
Place
From the depths of my own despair
Repaired again
Broken and painted back
From darkness immense light
The voices made of fire
Cast into the night
A glow of orange bloom
To know this frustration
All to soon
Is to hear the callback of
The blast at hand
For in the spire
There are voices made of fire
Moonlight grows wild
Upon the southern shores
Of a home once known
So to be one with the wild
Let down your hair
Embrace the wind
Of life
For nature knows us
Before we know it
So the wildness is within us
Is part of us
As the wind grows in
Our soul
Over the edge
Of demise
And down into the depths of
Waste
The threads of a shattered crown
Come to face
Songs played in dissonant keys
The note sharper then need be
For the crown of wonder
Comes falling from a head
To frail
To hold the weight of
Stranded hopes
Frayed
In the light of
A humanity
Betrayed
Hold and repose
Out through the mouth
In through the nose
Turn and weigh
Confusion and dismay
To handle a world of stress
Condescending kiss
From the upper class
So the weight of a single breathe
Is what you can do best
Ignore the
Ringing
It was not meant for us
Thrust onto a generation
That doesn’t understand the meaning of liberation
From rule
A hand so detach and cruel
That life is not lived
Rather created so perfectly
At the yield of working hands
Wrung out by the queens call
To bring more to her feet
So she can live fully set apart
From the world
And the real hearts
That beat
Hell bent brokenness
Marketed like genius
Unless
A complete useless fool
Would understand
That what makes us move
For another words
I am the puppet
The loser
For the jester and queen
Are breaking oaths with the serpent court
Cast down on the eyes of the people
Condescending blows
For the ones
Who didn’t even know
Between the heart and soul
Bones and skin
The is a resonance
That rings
In
the depth of night
And in to grasp of morning light
Echoes beneath the skin
The memories of past loves
Trials and tribulations
From the formation of our beings
There is an echo that rings
A Cup of Songwriting 